


Fragments

by Graveyard



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Body Horror, Holding Hands, Kissing, M/M, Medical Procedures, sparkplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-24
Updated: 2014-04-24
Packaged: 2018-01-20 15:09:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1514939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Graveyard/pseuds/Graveyard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An accident in the lab leaves Brainstorm dying and Perceptor scrambling to save his life. Faced with his own mortality, Brainstorm is finally forced to come to terms with his feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fragments

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this sitting around on my hard drive collecting figurative dust for ages, but I had nothing to do tonight so I decided to polish it up and share it. The reason it took me so long to post: I couldn't come up with a title. Seriously. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it!

Sometimes things happen so fast that afterwards you can’t fully recall how they came to pass. This is the case now. Brainstorm is lying on his back, a burning in his chest, and the remnants of his failed experiment all around him. He can’t properly comprehend what is going on: the pain is bleeding into his logic circuits and making them fuzzy. He reaches out, fingers finding a shard of beaker. It’s partially melted. Not good; Brainstorm doesn’t go in for cheap, flimsy beakers. Not with his experiments.

The pain is getting worse. He glances down. Holes are widening in his chest. Sudden panic. Flailing. A scream. Shuddering, all-consuming fear of death. No fame. No glory. Just another sad, pitiful accident. Pain, more insistent, more pressing. His spark chamber. Oh Primus. Not now. Not like this.

Then, a voice. His name. Hands, careful and precise, probing at the edge of his chest holes. A hiss. Was that him, or did someone just get acid on their fingers? Then a face appears above him. Handsome. Concerned. Perceptor.

“What chemical combination?” Only three words. Frag. Perceptor wouldn’t talk like that unless it’s serious. He opens his mouth behind his mask. Realizes he can’t remember. Closes it. Raises a hand, pointing, gibbering something incoherent. His lab notes. Hurry. Hopefully they haven’t been splattered and eaten away.

Perceptor stands, looming over him. In his shadow again. Heh. Always. He hears a sound of realization and then Perceptor is looking down at him.

“You fool.” Ouch. Thanks for that. Just what you want to hear in your last moments.

Then Perceptor is gone. Running. Footsteps echo loudly in the empty lab. The burning is becoming unbearable. He balls his hands into fists. Tries to scream again. Nothing. Just static. Static and the sound of liquid being poured. Tinkering. A rod being stirred in a beaker. Perceptor is trying to save him. He focuses on that sound, willing himself to sense only that one thing. He doesn’t want the pain or the sight of holes being chewed through his torso. He only wants to hear his life trying to be saved, even if it doesn’t work in the end.

He spasms suddenly, whole frame caught up in the motion as he nearly rises completely off the floor. More static. Can’t hear Perceptor anymore. Only screams that won’t fully form. Everything hurts. Burning. Fire. He is on fire. He’s melting. Oh Primus. Make it stop.

Then, a hand—firm, but careful—pressing on his collar and holding him still. Something blessedly cool floods his chest. He gasps, shivering. It soothes away the burning and leaves only dull throbbing in its wake.

He hears words, but can’t make sense of them. Something is stroking his chest seam. What's left of it. He opens instinctively and deft hands find their way inside him, touching carefully. He groans. Feels weird. There’s something else too. A tool. Something cutting into him. He jerks, but the motion is anticipated. An elbow presses down on him, holding him in place. More cutting. Scorched pieces are stripped away. Then, finally, a blossoming warmth. It’s different from the burning. Still hurts a little, but in a healing kind of way. New pieces are being welded in. Circuits are being reconnected. Something gets bumped and he feels a weird lurch deep inside of him. Swears. Huh. Vocoder is back online. A mumbled apology from above. Comparisons to Ratchet. Feelings of inferiority. Heh, like anyone as aggravatingly perfect as Perceptor has a right to feel inferior. Brainstorm reaches out. Touches something. Smooth metal. A leg? The fingers inside him stop moving. One hand trails toward his. Right. Inappropriate. Going to get pushed away. Except…

Fingers slide around his. His hand is being held. Perceptor’s other hand resumes work. What’s this? Why?

“Careful with that,” Perceptor mumbles as Brainstorm’s spark flares. He can see the reflection of it on Perceptor’s face, dancing over his attractive features. He’s exposed for Perceptor. The thought makes his spark burn even brighter. Perceptor frowns at him and launches into an explanation about what exactly he’s done to himself and why he needs to be careful with his spark. He’s talking again. The danger must be gone. Brainstorm half-listens, watching that mouth move temptingly. Frag. He has a thing for Perceptor, doesn’t he? Stupid time to notice.

“Kiss me,” he says, before realizing with horror that he actually spoke aloud. Spark pulse. Ow. Okay, that actually hurt. Maybe Perceptor’s right.

“You need to see Ratchet.”

“Don’t want to kiss Ratchet. Want to kiss you.” A small huff of a laugh from Perceptor. Brainstorm realizes he made a joke. Oh. Slag. Misunderstood. Feeling really stupid right now. Really slow. Don’t like that. Gotta play it cool, Brainstorm. Cool while your chest is wide open and your spark chamber is full of holes. Wow. Really don’t feel cool right now. “Kiss me,” he repeats, and slides his face mask open. May as well bare everything. Not like there’s anything to hide now.

Perceptor freezes. Stares down at him. Is his face weird? Then, slowly, he lowers himself down. Oh frag. He’s actually going to do it. Spark throb, throb, _burn_. Pain shoots through his chest. He hisses sharply and jerks again. Stupid, stupid spark.

“I,” Perceptor says firmly, drawing back, “Will kiss you later. You need to see Ratchet right now.”

“Can’t kiss you later,” Brainstorm groans, shifting in discomfort. “Later I’m going to have to go back to pretending that I hate you.”

“What a silly thing to do,” Perceptor mumbles. He glances down at Brainstorm’s chest— _pulse_ —and then up at his face again. “Very well, but we shall have to be careful. Keep your spark steady. If you cannot do this then there shall be no kissing until you are fully recovered. Understand?” Brainstorm nods and then Perceptor carefully slips a hand inside him again. This makes him tense up, but he tries to force his spark to remain stable. He feels a careful brush inside and then Perceptor’s hand rests gently on his spark chamber. _Burn._

“No, keep it steady,” Perceptor scolds, and Brainstorm realizes that it isn’t Perceptor’s hand causing the pain; it’s the rapid flaring of his spark in response. He opens his vents and draws in a steady flow of air to force himself to calm. It still hurts, and he’s just about to suggest that they don’t do this at all, when Perceptor suddenly says: “Here, I feel it.” His hand moves and there is a soothing touch to the side of Brainstorm’s spark, gentle, caressing. The pain dims, but he can still feel himself throbbing intensely. It’s weird, disgusting, completely invasive, and more than a little erotic.

“Unorthodox, I know,” Perceptor murmurs, apparently misunderstanding his expression, “But if I can dampen the emissions from your spark on the sensitive circuitry around it—”

“—then we can kiss,” Brainstorm finishes, cutting off what is shaping up to be another long Perceptor lecture. He vents more heavily now, nearly panting, and tilts his face up invitingly. Come on. Do it now, he dares. But Perceptor is still intent on running far more tests than necessary, as always. He reaches out with his other hand—still stroking the throbbing spark—and smooths it over Brainstorm’s exposed cheek. There’s another pulse, but it’s less painful this time. He doesn’t even flinch. Then the fingertips carefully slide over and brush his lips.

_Ow._ Now that _hurts._ Perceptor apparently can feel the flare, because he instantly adjusts his strokes on Brainstorm’s spark. Perceptor’s fingers draw together and then they are rubbing slow, gentle circles around a knot of energy, loosening it and making it flow more freely. The pain ebbs away and soon growing warmth replaces it. Perceptor’s hand cups his spark fully now, applying as much surface contact as possible. Brainstorm can feel the energy from his spark heat up Perceptor’s hand and flow across his palm. He glances up and sees a look of concentration on the mech’s face, but also a look of interest. Not entirely academic interest. Brainstorm releases another pulse now, and almost a moan. This time there is no pain. Perceptor’s managing to touch it just right and it feels _amazing._

Now Perceptor had better kiss him before he gets carried away and suggests they do something else.

Thankfully, Perceptor seems satisfied with these tests. He leans down and their lips meet. It’s soft, and gentle, and Brainstorm wants so much more when Perceptor pulls away. The hand leaves his spark but an ache replaces it—one that Brainstorm isn’t entirely sure is physical.

“Maybe I’ll pretend to hate you a little less from now on,” he ventures cautiously.

“I think that could be mutually beneficial.” A smile crosses Perceptor’s face, and Brainstorm startles. Did he just—but then the stony look is back and Perceptor is activating his comm. to call Ratchet. Brainstorm lies there, spark still throbbing—but not nearly as painfully as before—and wonders how this just happened. How did he get here, spark flaring from Perceptor’s recent touch, lips still tingling with the memory of the kiss, possibly about to begin a relationship with his idol and envy, and with a new kink to top it all off?

Sometimes things happen so fast that afterwards you can’t fully recall how they came to pass. This is the case now.

**Author's Note:**

> And that's it! No plans for a sequel or anything; I have too many other unpublished fics waiting for my attention. I do like this pairing though, so maybe one day I will revisit them. Maybe. Anyway, if you enjoyed it feel free to leave me a few words and hopefully that'll help me shift my lazy self into gear and post more fics soon. One can only hope.


End file.
